


Sumi-e

by rozurashii



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, caligraphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-27
Updated: 2004-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rozurashii/pseuds/rozurashii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaya doesn't exactly like it, but he doesn't say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sumi-e

**Author's Note:**

> Companion to [this](http://chaosasylum.shriftweb.org/images/akayagenichirou.jpg) image.

"Hold still for a moment."

Genichirou's voice shattered the stillness in the room. Outside, the faint strains of traffic drifted over the gentle flow of water and the hum of cicadas. There was a fat summer sun, casting long shadows over the world. The air prickled Akaya's naked skin despite the heat. A drop of ink slid from his shoulders down to his ribs causing him to shiver again.

"It's cold and _wet_ ," Akaya complained.

A sigh and whisper of movement came from behind him. Akaya braced himself for Genichirou's reprimand but it never came. Instead, he felt lips against his spine. Slick, warm kisses pressed across his shoulders.

"I would think cool and wet would be welcome on a day like today," Genichirou said calmly, retrieving his paintbrush.

"This is stupid," he mumbled, hands braced in front of his knees.

The brush made another line and another; black ink oozing along the perfect ivory of Akaya's skin. Genichirou paused for a moment to admire the lines he'd already put down before finishing the kanji.

"You don't like it?" He asked mildly. It was a rhetorical question, of course. They both knew Akaya would never submit to something he _truly_ disliked. Whether for Genichirou or anyone else.

Akaya was silent for another moment. "It's just weird," he said finally.

When he didn't say anything more, Genichirou pressed the brush against his skin again. He could be writing nonsense for all that Akaya could tell. Marks that meant nothing. That wasn't _likely_ , of course, but it was possible. What was likely was something complicated. Something deeply meaningful that wouldn't make sense no matter how long Akaya spent trying to figure it out.

"We can always stop."

Sometimes, Genichirou was too stupidly chivalrous for his own good.

"Don't be stupid," Akaya told him.

There was a chuckle and warm fingers on his side. Genichirou seemed strangely pleased with himself. At school, he always sounded severe. When there were adults around, he was respectful but slightly surly, like he'd been sucking on lemons. Captain Yukimura could sometimes make him sound happy but less so since he'd been in the hospital. But here, with Akaya, he was _pleased_.

Akaya made a derisive noise under his breath that hitched at the end. Genichirou had flicked the paintbrush along his lower back.

"You think I am?" Genichirou asked, dipping the brush in ink again. He made a noise that might have been repressed annoyance.

 _Obviously_ , Akaya thought. He said nothing though. A car horn honked in the distance, most likely protesting rush hour traffic. Akaya closed his eyes. He'd already memorized the grain of the dojo floor in front of him. The knots and whorls gave him a place to focus his attention while Genichirou played with paints.

Genichirou shifted, his fingers splaying across Akaya's hip. "Do you want to know what it says?" The paintbrush clinked against the suzuri stone when he dropped it; freeing his hand to drag through the ink spill on Akaya's ribs.

"I can guess," Akaya murmured. "Something horribly sappy, right?"

"Something like that," Genichirou agreed. "Do you hate when I'm romantic?"

Akaya grumbled, trying to slide further into Genichirou's embrace. The application of ink to his skin had not been particularly arousing -- he wasn't hard at all -- but that didn't stop him from craving touch. "You know I do."

"Mmm."

The sound didn't particularly mean anything. Genichirou was not the sort who would change his ways to appease a lover. He was sentimental but not an idiot. Akaya would kick him if it were otherwise.

Genichirou pressed a kiss to the back of Akaya's neck, just below his ear, and Akaya let his thoughts drift away. His skin felt sun warm and slightly itchy where the ink had dried. Soon, Genichirou would lay him out against the hardwood floor and nothing else would matter.


End file.
